Page 2 of Betting Her Curves

The trip was booked shortly, and now I find myself in a luxe designer boutique on the Strip. I’m not even sure what store we’re in because I hate this shit. These retailers mark-up their wares for a ridiculous profit margin, and then sell them to materialistic ladies who crave bling like a real housewife on TV. My dear sister is included in that bunch, of course.

But I shrug because I can afford it. It’s not a big deal and if my presence helps grease the wheels, then so be it. Meanwhile, Ainsley’s predictions seem to be coming true because our saleslady returns with what looks to be a gleaming red animal-skin handbag clutched between her lacquered nails.

“Mrs. O’Lachlan, you’re in luck! We do have one of these beauties left, and the crimson color is a perfect complement to your auburn locks. I hope you like it,” she gushes while thrusting the bag into my sister’s arms.

Ainsley corrects her immediately.

“Oh, I’m not Mrs. O’Lachlan, I’mMissO’Lachlan. Patrick here is my older brother. He’s just chaperoning me because he wants to make sure I don’t get into trouble in the City of Sin. We’re visiting, did I mention? We’ll be here for a few weeks.”

The woman’s eyes brighten as she shoots me an appreciative smile, her red lips curving in a monstrous arc. I know what she sees because I’m a good-looking motherfucker, and women have been throwing themselves at me since I was fifteen and hit my growth spurt. My suit drapes over broad shoulders, emphasizing a wide chest, and my black hair is brushed back in a smooth wave. Her eyes drop from my square jaw, to my blindingly-white shirt, to the suede Italian loafers on my feet. Yep, I hit the gym six times a week without fail, and the expensive clothes only emphasize the raw masculinity beneath. Corinne, as her name tag proclaims, practically licks her lips with anticipation.

“Welcome to Vegas!” she purrs. “You’ll have a fabulous trip because this is an amazing town, and of course, I’d be happy to show you around, Mr. O’Lachlan. Youandyour sister,” she adds hastily. “You’ll find that Vegas has so much to offer, and of course, it’s best seen with an experienced guide. I moved here five years ago, so I know this place inside out,” she adds with a coy smile.

Unfortunately, the woman’s not my type. Her hair is styled into long, loose Rapunzel curls, but there’s something fake about the look, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. Not only that, but she hardly fills out her clothing. A gauzy blouse hangs from her thin shoulders, the material fluttering in the air conditioning, and her wrists are so narrow that they appear frail and bird-like.

“Thank you, but I’m here to work,” I say in a polite tone. “I won’t have much free time.”

But the saleslady won’t be dissuaded.

“Oh, that’s okay!” Corinne exclaims, her face lighting up with a too-white smile. “I can make time for you, Mr. O’Lachlan. I can be available as early as 4 a.m. or as late as 3 a.m. for tours, talks, galleries, nightclubs, breakfast, lunch or dinner! I’m at your convenience.”

I shoot her a level look.

“So you’re available around the clock for practically any activity.”

“Yes, basically!” the saleslady chirps happily. “We pride ourselves on our unparalleled customer service in Vegas, and I’m happy to say that I’m an all access kind of gal. Would you like to dine at a Michelin-starred restaurant, perhaps, or attend a celebrity-studded boxing match? Or perhaps you’d like to see one of our famed shows? Adele is out, but I hear Britney will be coming back any day now. She needs the money you know,” the saleslady adds in a hushed tone, as if letting us in on a secret. “All those TikTok dance videos where Britney prances around in a bikini at age forty? I’m sorry, but no one pays to see that. What a chunky monkey!”

“Hey, what are you saying?” my sister protests, her cheeks going pink. “I love those dance videos! Britney may be forty, but she looks good. She’s healthy, beautiful, and out from under her controlling family now. Free Britney!”

Corinne retreats immediately, sensing her misstep.

“Of course, I absolutely support Britney Spears’ liberation,” she says hastily. “Go female empowerment! Go suffragists! Together we’ll break the chains of love!”

My sister and I shoot each other a look because this is getting fucking weird. Isn’tChains of Lovea song by Erasure? I suppose Britney’s conservatorship could be loosely described as “the chains of familial love,” but it’s still fucking weird. I smile tightly and turn to my sister.

“Ains, did you want to get that bag? Let’s make a decision.”

My sister purses her lips while stroking one hand up and down the red animal skin.

“How much did you say it is again?”

The saleslady smiles, her white teeth ghastly against her red lips.

“One hundred thousand even,” she simpers. “And we have it in blue too.”

To my horror, my sister perks up.

“Oooh, I love blue! Can I see that one too?”

“Certainly, Miss O’Lachlan,” Corinne simpers while shooting me a look. “The deep azure color will match Mr. O’Lachlan’s eyes so well. It’s in the back. I’ll just go get it. Give me a sec!”

That’s all I need to hear because I’m not sticking around this joint any longer. The overt flirting and desperate behavior gets under my skin, and I feel like I’m breaking out in hives.

“So yeah, get whatever you want,” I growl while standing. “Here’s my credit card. Treat yourself, Ains.”

My little sister smiles sweetly while palming the black Amex.

“Thanks Patrick,” she sings. “I’ll be surenotto give your number to Corinne when she comes back.”

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